The Showing
by LauraLover
Summary: ::It is the beautiful bird which gets caged::


**The Showing**

::It is the_ beautiful bird_ which gets _caged::_

_-Chinese Proverb_

Decency called for a gentleman to arrive to a friends Showing promptly, or at least to not arrive 30 minutes late to it. I checked my watch for the millionth time, tapping the tip of my black dress shoe against the car floor, the metal tip making a solid clinking noise. The car seemed to be crawling down the tree lined lane. I cleared my throat to the driver who begrudgingly pressed on the gas.

The Showing was in honor of my friend, Royce King's, recent marriage. We had been met during our final year of law school; staying in the same class associated apartment building on campus. Royce had always been the natural appointed leader of our small group of friends. He was charming and smart, and got along with everyone. It was only me who saw the rough interior that was held up by the handsome façade. He was self-righteous, pompous and an overall very intimidating man. His pride made him arrogant, which made us bump heads on several occasions. We remained friends, despite our several differences and arguments, and graduated the top of our class and had each been offered positions at the most prestigious law firms in the city.

Success was like a drug to Royce. He worked hard for where he was able to rise in the company, especially in just 4 years. His status as one of the city's up-and-coming legal minds pushed his ability to marry a full two years ahead of what had been originally agreed. Royce's arrangement with the Hale family has been in place since Royce was seven years old. His bride to be was, at the time, barely three, but old enough for the King family to see that she would have her father's piercing green eyes and her mother's long yellow hair. She was not as exotic as some of the other potential brides the King's could have chosen (as what is in fashion), but her potential beauty more than made up for it.

The car finally turned onto Royce's private drive. I adjusted my layered jackets and ran my fingers through my unruly hair. The clothing I wore was the epitome of style, the only dress allowed in halls of Royce King's mansion. Layers of foreign silk and expensive black suiting. I was use to the show of importance at these functions, with each man puffed up to display his dominance and wealth. It was a quintessential pissing contest between the blue bloods.

Royce's house looked even more polished and buffed than usual. The porch was lined with boxes of tall white orchids that were completely out of season for this time of year. Royce was not above splurging on imported flowers it seems. These functions were a big ordeal though, especially for a family like the King's. Traditionally, there are three different celebrations for a man's marriage: the bachelor party, the wedding itself and the Showing. The Showing was a very private affair, reserved for the grooms male relations and close friends. It was an exhibit of a man's bride. The girl was put on display for all the attendees to view as they drank expensive liquor and smoked foreign cigars. It was like an open house or the showing of priceless work of art.

My car came to a halt and a man by the front steps swiftly opened my car door. The large entrance at the top of the pillared porch opened and Royce himself waltzed out to the top step.

"Emmett McCarthy. I didn't realize that they couldn't keep time over at Benjamin and Burke," he said brashly, taking a cigar out of his front blazer and snipping the tip.

I met him at the top step, meeting his glare head on. "I thought you realized, Royce, the clock stops when I'm around. Do you think anyone could win as many cases as I do if it didn't?" I said offhandedly. The only way to receive even a bit of respect from Royce was to catch onto his game, which I had perfected in my years of knowing him.

Royce's glare kept on for another brief second before melting away to a shit-eating grin. "You mean except the Yearling case last year."

I shook my head and gave in. "You have me there, man." We laughed as he held out his hand and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, the bourbon and Cubans are in supply tonight, no one seemed to mind the slight delay in tonight's festivities."

He led the way into the grand house into the front receiving room where my jacket was quickly taken and put in one of the front closets. The house had been designed by some interior designer from Europe, no doubt charging the equivalent of the house price itself to adorn the exquisitely designed ceiling and floor. The front hall had a Greco Roman theme; large Corinthian columns ran along the center of the room, topped with ornate capitols. Loud talking and laughing was coming from the front parlor. As we entered the room, several men called out a welcome as they rose from their seats in greeting. I acknowledged cordially, and picked up a small tumbler of whiskey off the cart.

Royce's father sat prominently in a large overstuffed leather chair, flanked on either side by his younger sons. I recognized several of the attendees, mostly from other business and social gatherings. The few I didn't recognized bared the telltale King features: black wavy hair, piercing blue eyes. They all too were styled in fine clothing.

"Ah, it seems our final guest has finally decided to grace us with his presence," Mr. King said curtly, spinning his diamond headed cane around in his palm.

"I apologize for my late arrival," I replied politely, but allowing a small bit of venom to slip through my composed front.

"Now, Father, no harm done; my treasure is not doubt using the time to compose herself," Royce chimed in. The atmosphere in the room altered ever so slightly – the whole reason for the nights gathering was about to take place.

I honestly had only been to one Showing before, and it had been my brother's bride. My family, while still prominent in society, did not hold the same entitled air as the Kings. While not quite humble, I don't think my parents ever felt the need to instill the grandeur the higher class called for into our essential makeup. The Kings were the definition of opulence and their affairs were anything but simple. I was more than morbidly interested in what Royce had planned for tonight.

A small chime sounded from front hall and everyone was instantly on his feet, excitement buzzing in the air. Royce had a knowing smile on his face as he led the way out of the silent room. The rest followed quickly but silently, their half empty glasses of liquor and cigars still in their hands. Two large wood doors were closed at the far end of the hall. They stood at least 10 feet tall, made of a dark cherry wood with large lilies etched into the intricately designed door. A bright light was showing through the cracks between the doors. Royce stride was confident as he walked down the hall towards the exhibit room. From what my father had told me, Mr. King had offered to pay for the construction of this room for his son. Royce had accepted, but had invested double what his father had paid into refurbishing the front halls and the new room itself. Royce turned when he reached the end of the grand hall and smiled at his guests.

"Gentlemen, I am pleased to introduce my wife, Rosalie Lillian King," he turned towards the doors that opened slowly, letting the bright light within stream out onto the white marble floors.

The room was a large conservatory. The walls were made out of a slightly misted white glass. The outside perimeter was lined with willow saplings, their long leafed branches falling over a cobbled stone path that wrapped around the edge and in a star pattern through the humid room. The space was perfectly designed with a variety of exotic flowers and trees, their foliage nearly brushing the tops of the glass building. The entire room was perfectly composed in balance, beauty, fragrance and flow, the complete design oriented towards a round platform in the center of the room, adorned with an ivy-laced swing where Royce's new bride sat.

The very air around her seemed to have a glimmer, making the room shimmer with a dreamlike quality. Her long blonde hair was waist length and stylishly curled, pulled into a long braid that fell delicately over one bare shoulder and onto her lap. Her dress was strapless, showing off the smooth, milky skin of her shoulders and neck. It was a simply designed dark green silk gown, its rich texture and color the likes of which could only be found from overseas silk suppliers. Suspended white crystals hung around her, looking like frozen rain in the diffused light.

I only had the chance to see Rosalie for a short moment at the wedding; even then her face had been hidden under a birdcage veil. Royce had this entire affair planned step by step. He knew that this moment was the one needed to impress, not the wedding, not anything before or after this. Royce was putting on a show that would make or break him. It didn't matter that the rest of us were glorified plebeians to him, this night was meant to be the social event of the decade.

Rosalie was one of the most naturally beautiful women I had ever laid eyes on. Her face was composed in a small natural smile, looking straight ahead as we entered the room and circled the stage. Her eyes were a deep green, possibly enhanced with a shimmered contact or surgical glamour. Other than that, it was clear no other modifications had been made to her. Her cheekbones were high and rosy, bordering a thin nose and large full lips. She was mesmerizing.

A few of the men had fallen into quiet conversation, critiquing the woman on display before us. The entire display Rosalie was on started to revolve in slow circles. She was trained professionally for this moment; she knew how to angle and express her face. Every movement was graceful and poised as she changed her pose on the swing. Her face remained in an expressive gaze, occasionally glancing down at the men circled around the stage. This was just the opening act, the first phase of the show.

The stage stopped its slow rotation and Rosalie elegantly slid off the swing and stood before the assembly. Her hands came together timidly behind her back and she knelt into a delicate stance so she was eye level with the crowd. Her facial expression never changed, the same content smile was on her face as she looked past everyone, staring forward as the men moved forward. This was the examination.

"What is her lineage?" Eleazer Samson, a lawyer in Royce's firm, asked as he neared the kneeling bride.

"Half Croatian, fourth German and a fourth Native American," Royce responded from his stance on the entrance steps. He was looking proudly at the men around him, as if showing off a prized horse rather than his wife.

"Not very exotic…" a man to my right muttered under his breath. Royce's head jerked towards the culprit, his eyes narrowing but remaining silent.

"What about her schooling?" Someone asked from across the auditorium.

"Her grade schooling was taught at Meadowland Preparatory in Hilton, and she has her Masters in English with a minor in Journalism from Harvard," Royce replied smoothly.

Demetri Valance, who stood to my left, leaned in towards me, "Seems a little much," he muttered. He was right. For the type of wife Royce wanted, any education would seem too much. Royce wanted a trophy – someone to have on his arm and produce beautiful King boys to carry on the family legacy. Rosalie would never work so long as she was married to Royce. She would never truly have to think. Every party would be planned, her wardrobe always set out, someone to wait on her hand and foot. Physical trainers to keep her in shape, foreign language instructors if Royce wanted her to learn a new language – and she would do it all. The moment her family had signed away their daughter to marry into the King family they signed away her choice of…anything.

"What was her family name?" I asked.

"She's the daughter of Carlisle Hale."

"I don't recall Hale having a daughter named Rosalie," Eugene Hernandez said doubtingly, turning towards Royce and lifting an eyebrow.

"I thought the name Rosalie flowed better with King than Sarah," Royce answered with a small shrug.

"She's very beautiful Royce, I'll give you that. A little old fashioned perhaps, with the blonde hair and pale skin, but very beautiful," Royce's cousin, Maxmillian, admitted almost grudgingly. Royce nodded and tipped his glass, accepting the compliment.

"How can you tell? She's all covered up," someone protested mockingly. A chorus of chuckles rang and Royce smirked.

"Now now, don't embarrass her."

"Any talents, Royce? Anything to keep us entertained?"

"Rosalie has quite a beautiful voice, don't you Rosalie," Royce stepped down from the stoop at the door and walked towards his bride.

"Let's hear something then, Royce, don't keep us waiting," Mr. King bellowed from the far edge of the crowd, leaning heavily from the crystal cane and taking long draws from the Cuban in his hand.

Upon receiving the nod to do so from Royce, Rosalie stood and stepped backwards onto a circular spot on platform. This circle rose away from the platform about a foot, making a separate platform for her to perform. Music filled the conservatory, soft and beautiful, an opera piece I had heard once before. Rosalie's hands came mid chest in a delicately gestured pose as she sang the first tone from a song from Dream of Red Chamber.

Her voice was flawless and perfect. She sang with passion, closing her eyes dramatically and opening her arms to encompass the entire crowd, then pulling her arms in towards her breast. Her eyes, so poised and cold before, held a fire in them that pulsed with the words. The song was sad, but she made it vibrant. She held the audience captive with the beauty of her performance. The song was in the old form of Chinese, a language that was all but unknown in the modern business world. I was probably one of few, if not the only person who could understand the words.

_Last night from the courtyard floated a sad song-  
Was it the soul of blossom, the soul of birds?  
Hard to detain, the soul of blossom or birds,  
For blossoms have no assurance, birds no words  
I long to take wing and fly  
With the flowers to earth's uttermost bound;  
And yet at earth's uttermost bound  
Where can a fragrant burial mound be found?_

I wondered briefly if Royce could understand the words she was singing. Had this song been approved? If he fully understood the meaning of the song would have allowed her to sing this song?

The men were transfixed as their eyes hungrily absorbed Rosalie. No one else seemed to be able to understand the ancient language, which I strangely felt thankful for. Would they have questioned the song choice? Would Rosalie have been punished for possibly causing a dent in the nights overall presentation?

I turned towards Royce for any hint of reaction. His arms were crossed in front of his chest as his eyes were set on Rosalie. I had seen Royce in the court room hundreds of times – so I could knew when Royce was hiding something. Anger? A small glint appeared in his eye before he breathed in deeply and his expression smoothed back into his poker face. With a sudden uneasy feeling, I turned back towards Rosalie.

No one seemed to even be breathing as the last part of the song blossomed from her lips. Her hands were again clasped together at her chest as she slowly knelt to the ground, tilting her head up and releasing the final words to the ceiling.

_Men laugh at my folly in burying fallen flowers,  
But who will bury me when dead I lie?  
See, when spring draws to a close and flowers fall,  
This is the season when beauty must ebb and fade;  
The day that spring takes wing and beauty fades,  
Who will care for the fallen blossom?_

Rosalie's head bowed to her chest as her eyes closed and she finished her song. There was a moment of silence before a polite patter of applause praised her performance.

"I think it's time dinner was served, Royce," Mr. King muttered.

Royce nodded and held an open arm towards the door. "Gentlemen, if you would care to make your way to the dining room, you will find dinner being prepared. If you'll excuse me for a moment."

The men shuffled past, congratulating and clapping Royce on the back as they made their way back into the house. I waited till the last, approaching Royce with a smile but the same troubled feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Congratulations, Royce, she's perfect," I smiled, willing his muffled anger to subside.

"Yes…so it would appear," Royce replied, his cheek clenching as he turned back towards the stage and approached his kneeling bride.

I took his behavior as my dismissal. I left the conservatory and started down the hall. Loud voices were already heard from the dining room at the opposite end of the house, revealing that whatever delectables had been prepared for us were being well received.

I looked back one final time towards the conservatory, the large wooden doors still propped open. Royce was standing above his kneeling wife, quietly speaking in an angered rushed voice. When she refused to respond to whatever he had asked, he roughly grabbed her chin and forced her head back so she would look at him. His face was red with anger, his voice no longer quiet as he shouted several profanities at her quivering form.

Mr. King appeared beside me in the hall, his cane echoing off the dark halls. He continued past me in the direction of his son, and I felt relieved that he was going to intercede and end the confrontation.

Royce's hand was harshly gripping Rosalie's chin as the other hand grabbed her arm and yanked her to a standing position, vile, rude words still exploding at her. Her eyes were closed as she tiled her head toward the open doors, her long dark eyelashes opening up over those beautiful green orbs as they found me, frozen in the hallway.

A single tear fell slowly down one cheek, as Mr. King walked to the conservatory doors and closed them.


End file.
